


the ideal angels twist and turn

by inlovewithnight



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Always-a-girl, F/M, Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-29
Updated: 2010-10-29
Packaged: 2017-10-17 22:58:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/182207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight





	the ideal angels twist and turn

Mikey takes her boots off at the front door. The idea is so they won't make noise as she crosses the floorboards, but as soon as she eases them off, she gasps and knows there's no way she's going to be able to tiptoe. Fucking boots. Fucking Steve. Fucking...fuck.

She hobbles on the sides of her feet instead, gritting her teeth against the pain as she makes her way to the stairs and up to her room. The clock says 3:30, so her parents are definitely asleep, and Gerard might even be. She has some time and privacy to contemplate the massive fuck-up that was her night.

She sits on the edge of her bed and stretches her legs out slowly, staring at her feet. She hadn't worn socks, because she didn't have any clean, and that was a bad choice, apparently, she's regretting that right now and from now on she's going to do her laundry religiously, she's going to--

"Mikey?"

So much for privacy. She really should have known. "Hey, Gee."

"There are bloody footprints across the living room and up the stairs. It's like a horror movie."

"Shit. I'll have to clean that up."

"Why are you bleeding?" He's leaning in the doorway, not quite coming inside, frowning at her anxiously. "What happened?"

She brushes her hair off her forehead and shrugs, swinging her feet in slow arcs. The air stings against the raw spots, but she kind of likes it. "I walked home from the bar."

"That's...a really long way."

"Yes."

"How long did that take you?"

"An hour and a half."

"Mikey. Why didn't you call me?"

She shrugs and lies back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. "Didn't want to talk to anybody."

After a minute she hears his footsteps move off down the hall. She doesn't move, because it's a pretty safe bet that he isn't actually going back downstairs. She knows him better than that.

Sure enough, he comes back with a towel and a basin of water and sets them both down at the edge of the bed. "Put your feet in." She sits up and does, biting her lip at the sharp pain.

He sits down next to her and puts his arm around her waist, tugging loosely until she gives in and leans against him. "You want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Will you anyway, so I don't worry?"

She sighs and rubs her cheek against his shoulder. "I broke up with Steve. Loudly, publicly, in the middle of the bar."

"Oh. I'm sorry." That's a lie and they both know it. Gerard didn't like Steve at all. Which Mikey couldn't really blame him for; she didn't like Steve most of the time, either, a fact that she hadn't really thought about much until they were up in each other's faces in the middle of the bar, spitting out accusations.

She shrugs and doesn't say anything, just leans on him harder. He holds her close and nuzzles at her hair, and it does make her feel a little bit better, sitting with him for a while.

"He shoved me up against the wall. While we were arguing." Gerard goes all tense beside her, and she shakes her head, finding his hand and threading their fingers together. "I don't put up with that shit, you know?"

"Good. You shouldn't."

"I don't." And that is why she keeps ending up single, one Jersey scene asshole after another. She takes her feet out of the mostly-cooled water and wipes them off on the towel. "Let me up?"

He pulls away and moves over to lie with his head on the pillow. She can feel him watching her, all concern and worry and love, while she strips off her outfit and digs through the laundry basket for something to sleep in. He's the best big brother in the world, and she's never, ever going to tell him that he was one of the things she and Steve fought about.

She finds a pair of Gerard's old boxers and a ripped-up tank top, her usual sleep clothes. Her hair is still stiff and crunchy with hairspray, but she doesn't feel like brushing it out tonight, and the idea of washing her makeup off is laughable. She climbs into bed and lies on her side, facing him, letting him pull the blanket up over them both.

When Mikey was fourteen, their mom stopped her on the stairs one morning as she came back up from sleeping in Gerard's bed in the basement. Mikey had stood awkwardly, knock-kneed, back to the wall, quilt still clutched around her shoulders, while her mom exhaled a slow, wheezy smoker's sigh and said "Michaela. Don't you think it's about time you two stopped..."

Mikey had waited, digging her fingers into her palms to keep her face stoic. "Stopped what?"

"You're getting older now."

"I don't think either of us can stop getting older, Mom."

Her mom had looked at her for a long moment, eyes narrowed, then shook her head and smiled a little. "I guess if you don't know what I'm talking about, I don't have any reason to worry."

At the time, Mikey really didn't get it, and they never talked about it again, so Mikey never had a chance to tell her that she figured out exactly what she was talking about, but there still wasn't any reason to worry. The concern would be that Gerard might be taking advantage of her, since he's older and a boy and there's a double-shot of power differential there. Mikey gets where that's coming from, in theory. She just doesn't care to waste her time trying to explain why the theory is irrelevant, because there's no differential between her and her brother. Neither of them has an advantage. That's the whole point.

He carefully wipes at her face, under her eyes, and she wrinkles her nose at him. "Stop it."

"You've got makeup everywhere."

"I walked for an hour and a half. I got sweaty."

"Huh." He licks his fingers.

"Gerard. That's, like, chemicals and shit. You're not supposed to eat it."

"It goes on your eyes, it can't be that bad."

"Eyes are not the same as tongue."

"That would be gross. Eye-tongues." He drops his hand down and squeezes her arm gently. "Are you okay?"

"I'm pissed." She shifts to lay her head on his chest. "Everyone I date turns out to be a jerk and the band at the bar sucked and my feet hurt and I didn't even get laid."

"You should date nicer guys. And go to better bars. And wear better shoes."

"You're just full of advice."

"I'm older and smarter."

She pinches his stomach, hard. "Yeah, well, if you find any nicer guys, let me know."

"You could date Ray. He's nice."

"No dating within the band."

He snorts. "What about you and Frank? And I saw you and Matt coming out of the storage closet at the practice space last week, you can't even--"

"I didn't say no messing around within the band. I said no dating."

"Oh, okay. Got it." He takes her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles, and she moves so she can see his face.

"I didn't hear any helpful advice on the topic of me getting laid."

He blinks at her, getting that slightly panicked look that he does when he knows there's a right and wrong response but has no idea which is which. She saves him the trouble by leaning and kissing him while she guides their joined hands downward.

He takes his time, kissing her slowly and deeply while he teases her through the thin fabric of the boxers, helping her get wet and ready before he slips his hand under the waistband and slides his fingers against her.

"Stop just a second," she whispers, and he does, pulling back and licking his fingers again while she wiggles the boxers down and kicks them to the foot of the bed. Her legs are a mess, as usual, all bruises and old scars and fresher cuts from shaving with cheap razors. He settles between them easily and kisses her knees, moving to touch her again while she hooks her heels against his back. He makes a face at her and then moves up, kissing and sucking at her breasts through the tank top while he works his fingers inside her, thumb rubbing at her clit.

"More," she says, arching up under him, and he obeys, letting his teeth scrape along the neckline as he slides his fingers deeper.

Gerard's always intensely focused on getting her off, like it's the most important project he can think of at the moment. He's kissing her neck now, sucking at the curve of her collarbone before finding the place below her ear that makes her writhe under him on the bed, biting back traitorous sounds and pressing her heels harder against him every time his fingers threaten to slow or break their pattern.

She pulls at his hair when she comes, signaling him to stop before she gets overwhelmed and oversensitive, and he rests his forehead against her chest, holding still and waiting for her to catch her breath. His dick is pressed hard against her, and when she thinks she can stand it she runs her fingers through his hair and nods.

He shakes his head and kisses her throat, fumbling to push his pajama pants down. "I got it. Just...yeah, let me..."

She catches his jaw and kisses him again, fucking his mouth with her tongue while he jerks himself off, pressed close against her hip. She swallows the noises he makes, her free hand sliding up and down his back, holding him close, nails sliding against his skin just enough to mark him as hers. He's pale, his skin is fine, she can write on him like paper.

He breaks away to pant roughly at her neck, his body tensing and jerking. She closes her eyes and just feels for a moment, the heat and wet and her pulse pounding in her veins, and absent-mindedly thinks about how her sheets are kind of a mess and she should probably wash them, or something.

"Sleep here or downstairs?" Gerard whispers, and she sighs, squinting at the clock again. After 4 AM. They're both going to have to roll out of bed and go directly to practice at eleven, or they'll be late and Ray will give them that look.

"Downstairs." He gets up and she pulls the boxers on again, wincing as the sore spots on her feet slide against the bed.

"Mikey?" He has his serious face on, though it's mixed with enough sleepy-post-orgasm that it mostly just looks goofy.

"Yeah, Gee?"

"You deserve somebody nice, okay? Not jerks."

She tucks her hair back behind her ears and carefully gets to her feet. "I'll take your word for it."

"I'll keep repeating it."

"I know you will." She takes his hand and they start making their way down the hall. She thinks about saying _it's different for girls, Gee_ , but she's tried to tell him before and he's never quite got it, even though she knows he tries.

Instead she squeezes his hand, and leads him down to bed, and they lie in the dark and whisper about what they'll work on at practice tomorrow. That's what really matters, anyway; their band, and their music, and where they're going. Once they get there, everything else will vanish like a dream.  



End file.
